The Plane Shift
by Storm Notorious
Summary: Aramil, a sorcerer-slash-changeling-adventurer extraordinaire, stumbles through a portal in the City of Doors and emerges into a very strange world... 3.5 Edition.
1. Chapter 1: From Bad to Odd

**Hi everyone! To those who were wondering why it had been taking a while for me to update The Ghost King(s), this is why. I've been trying to get this back up from where it stalled. If anyone wants to check out his character page, it'll be in my profile soon.**

 **Just listing a few house rules and stuff:**

 **1: Skill points are retroactive with INT boosts.**

 **2: Greyhawk setting.**

 **3: Flaws are used.**

 **4: Using the (fey) changeling race from Dragon Magazine #304. Basically it has +2 to charisma and dexterity, -2 to con and strength, and a few minor cantrips once a day.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

Ah, Sigil.

Aramil had always liked it. It was one of the few places in all the planes where he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. Compared to the neogi trading live goods in the marketplace, the imps weaving in and around the legs of two storm giants in a passionate argument, a changeling was boring. It was a far cry from the Prime Material Plane. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't go two steps before some peasant wanted to burn him at the stake.

One of the neogi scuttled up to him with its spiderlike gait, bringing its narrow head up to eye level.

It spoke only one halting word of Common, and even that seemed like an ordeal for it. "Slave?"

He wasn't sure if that was a offer or a demand. With the neogi, it could be both.

"Um, no thanks." The storm giants seemed to have finished up their argument and Aramil took the opportunity, slipping between their legs before it could harass him further.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The neogi wouldn't be able to do much in the city if they didn't want to be torn apart by the Lady of Pain, but Aramil was not in the mood to waste a few decades as their _dominated_ slave.

Though considering what he was dealing with now...

Aramil took a quick look behind. On the roof, two buildings down the street. It was still there, watching with a detached look. _Dammit._

For the past three weeks, that thing had been following him. It started after he had, ahem, _liberated_ a few items from a temple of Kord, so he thought it might have been some sort of divine avenger. But as it had made it into the very anti-divine city, it was clearly not.

It looked like a... well, he wasn't really sure. Every time Aramil turned his back, he couldn't remember what it looked like. Which was something new. Or maybe it wasn't. He wouldn't remember.

Which was why he was here, in Sigil. If anyone would know something about the creature, Delver-Of-Lore would. It knew the universe like the back of its ugly little hands.

If only he could actually find the library. It seemed like the dabus changed the layout every time he was here. But then again, the last time was about a century ago. The buildings may have collapsed into dust. It was always embarrassing, visiting a temple to Nerull only to find out it had been converted into an orphanage. Either time that happened.

That beige-ish door looked familiar. Was the library through there?

* * *

Aramil blinked as he walked into a sunny field.

 _Okay, definitely not The Endless Sigils._ He looked behind him for the doorway, only to see it collapse in on itself and vanish, leaving him stranded.

"Alright. That's new." He was stuck on what looked like another plane. It wasn't trying to kill him at the moment, so that was pretty lucky.

He walked around, making a few Spot and Search checks. Nothing. Just a bright sunny field, with grass stretching as far as a roll of 12 could see. Aramil picked a direction at random and started walking. Nothing else he could do.

As he walked, Aramil tried to figure out what plane he was on. He was pretty sure it was the Prime Material, or at least a place that looked like it. It was too mundane for the Outer Planes, and not chaotic enough for any of the Inner Planes (the fact that he wasn't on fire or exploding was a big sign). And it sure as hells wasn't the Plane of Shadow, or the Ethereal or Astral. Also, he wasn't feeling any planar traits so far.

Now all he had to do was find the way to the closest village, hitch a ride to the nearest city, and then... well, not sure what he would do from there. Maybe he could go join Amara on whatever quest she was doing. He'd have a snowball's chance in the Nine Hells of actually finding her, though. Cassandra definitely had the resources to do so. Maybe he could convince her to help him.

And maybe ogres could fly.

Well, ogre mages could. Right? Whatever. Orcs then. Unless there was some incredibly obscure sub-race that had a 150-foot fly speed.

* * *

After about an hour, Aramil finally made it to the first sign of civilization, spotting a village down below the hill he was on.

Something about it looked off, though. Maybe it was the buildings? They were in a lot better shape than he would've expected from... well, humans, thought it wasn't really their fault. It was hard for dwarves to mess up stone buildings, halflings were nomadic, and elves usually lived in trees.

A flash of movement caught his eye. Two people (humans, most likely) had just exited one of the larger buildings, which Aramil would guess was an inn. He couldn't exactly tell from this distance, but it looked like they were wearing robes.

One of them turned to the other, shook hands, and disappeared. The other walked away out of his view point.

So the area had at least one Wizard/Sorcerer/Whatever around 10th level. Everything was going better than he expected. Now all he needed to do was convince the-

Wait. Did he even have any money? Aramil reached for his bag, only to feel nothing but air.

Aramil said something rather impolite in Abyssal (which was pretty much every word in the language, so it wasn't really impressive). He was a level 1 sorcerer miles away from everything he knew, and he didn't even have a single gold piece.

Whatever. He'd have to persuade him the old-fashioned way- with good ol' fashioned Diplomacy.

"Well, not going to get anything done here." Aramil picked his way down the slope carefully, taking the time to take 10. It wasn't that big of slope, but with a -1 Climb modifier, it was best to be cautious.

Now that he was actually in the town, he kept on rolling Spot checks, seeing what information he could dig up. One piece of info he noticed was that all the buildings were in pretty much perfect condition, without even a single fleck of paint out of order. It was the sort of level of cleanliness that could only be achieved by magic, but what kind of self-respecting arcanist would spend valuable spell slots on maintenance?

Just as he was wondering about that, a young woman stepped out of a house further up the path, tapping the door with what looked like a wand.

She caught sight of him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, hey. Don't think I've seen you around before. You new to Hogsmeade?"

She was wearing blue robes with a star pattern. That probably meant she had enough power to sneeze and turn him into a puddle of goo.

Aramil decided to err on the side of caution and not piss her off. "Yeah, first time. The name's Aramil. Aramil Lightflower." He cranked up the charm with a smile and a Diplomacy check.

The woman smiled. He tended to have that effect on people. "Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus. But you can call me Lucy. So what are you doing in Hogsmeade, Aramil?"

Time for a Bluff check. Aramil laughed off the question. "Come on, it's Hogsmeade. Where else would I go?"

Lucy seemed to find it funny, shrugging. "Well, fair point. Not like there's a lot of wizards-only settlements in Great Britain."

Aramil's smile slipped up for a fraction. Every single person in the _entire_ village was a wizard? Either he was in some sort of coma, or they had very different ideas on what a wizard was. Probably just the Magical Training feat. Which would still be somewhat impressive, but not as much as dozens of wizards.

He did his best to keep his voice steady. "Uh, exactly. Nothing can really compare. But I think I'm getting off track. I was supposed to meet a friend at the bookshop here. Would you know where that was?"

For a moment, it seemed like his Bluffing had finally hit a wall. Lucy looked slightly suspicious of him. Maybe the village didn't have a bookshop.

But then it cleared, and she was all smiles again. "Oh, Scrolls and Tomes? You'e heading in the right direction. Just head past the Three Broomsticks over there, and turn right. You can't miss it."

"Thanks. See you around, Lucy." Aramil breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. He used to bluff his way past demon princes. Now he was almost tripped up by a human wizard, who shouldn't even be peddling around a good Wisdom score. This was going to be a long climb upwards.

Or maybe that was the point.

Aramil had been drained back to first level, stripped of all his gear, and dumped on some godforsaken part of the Material Plane. It was basically the start of a new campaign.

Wait. That actually could be it.

Yes, that made sense. Everyone always needed a reset in a while.

"So if it's a new campaign, shouldn't I go to the inn...? Well, probably. Still need to get my bearings around here. And if it's a wizard-only community like they claim, they probably have scrolls or something there. Or maybe an easy fetch/deliver quest."

With that in mind, he strolled confidently through the doors of the bookstore, only to find what looked like a very ugly and rather tall goblin manning the front desk.

The goblin took a break from the book it was reading, peering over the glasses that it apparently actually used, and not just collected because it was shiny. "Can I help you, young man?"

Okay, that was strange. Usually goblins didn't speak Common that well. Then again, if Delver-Of-Lore could be a librarian, anything was possible. "Uh, I'm looking for a beginner's guide to wizard spells?"

It stared at him for a while. "First shelf, bottom row. We keep it there so toddlers can reach it easily."

Ah, condescension and smugness. Aramil would've replied back with something about how goblins could barely scrounge together a civilization, but he decided to hold his tongue. The ol' Shopkeeper Is Actually An Epic-Level Wizard trick was a common one, and he still needed his soul intact.

Aramil snatched up one of the books at random, finding a dark corner of the shop to red it in.

"Now, let's see what kind of magic this is..."

* * *

A weird one, apparently.

Aramil snapped the last book shut. Magic users in this world needed wands to cast spells, it wasn't tied to any particular wisdom or force of personality or intellect, and they could cast as many spells as they could think of in a day.

He wondered if he had stumbled onto some alternate Material Plane. Apparently you could get to them through gateways deep in the Plane of Shadow. Not that he had actually met anyone who had done so. It was basically a myth.

But this world was way too bizarre for it not to be. They had no concept of Hit Dice or spell slots or even clerics. All they had were 'wizards', who were kind of like sorcerers in that they were born with it. Aramil tossed the book back on the shelf and walked out, ignoring the dirty look the goblin sent his way.

 _So, stuck in an alternate Material Plane with no chance of getting back for a long time._ Aramil needed experience, fast.

And as if the multiverse decided to be a kind and loving one for a split second, he leveled up.

"Oh, thank gods. Guess figuring this place out put me over the top." Aramil pulled out his character sheet, updating it with another level. It was best to stay single class, at least for now.

He finished up and watched his sheet vanish back into nothingness. He always wondered where they went. Amara always used to joke that they went to the Great Library in the Sky. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if there was an invisible library a few thousand feet in the sky.

But he was getting off track. What should he do now...

Maybe he should try out the Obviously Haunted House? It was in the middle of a village, so the odds of him running into something like a spectre would be low. It'd probably just be a few shadows.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he'd stumble into an incredibly ancient and deadly ghost and accidentally set it free upon the world. But what were the odds of that happening?

Probably a lot more, now that he lampshaded it. Except for that level up, reality tended to be a cruel mistress, as the existence of atropals, atropal scions, and slaymates proved. No one needed more than one type of undead fetus/child monster.

 _Off track again._ Should he go check out the house? He was way under-leveled for anything incorporeal. But if push came to shove, he'd just burn the house down and expose them to daylight.

What could go wrong?

 _Damn it Aramil, stop with the lampshading._

* * *

Up close, the house didn't look so bad. Sure, the windows and doors and whatnot were ll boarded up, but other than that, it was in pretty good condition for a haunted house.

 _"Detect Magic."_ If it was cursed, he might be able to detect it. Magic was different here, but magic was still magic. It might be able to pick up a aura of Necromancy, or Evocation.

Nope. Aside from the general layer of magic that seemed to be everywhere in the village (which registered as Universal, interestingly enough), he wasn't picking up anything tied specifically to the house.

It didn't mean it wasn't haunted, though. Just that there weren't any spells lingering around it.

Which now that he thought about it , was kind of strange for a village of wizards. Magic was like sovereign glue, it never really went away. Constant spellcasting over however many decades the house was inhabited, should've been enough to leave it with at least a faint magical aura.

Or maybe the inhabitants weren't spellcasters? The only ones in the village, and then someone else burnt down their house in a wonderful display of human kindheartedness. Seemed plausible enough.

Just in case, he was going to find a way into the house. The windows were boarded up, and he wasn't breaking them with an 8 in Strength. Aramil wandered around the perimeter, wondering if he could find a cellar or basement entrance. Failing that, maybe he could sneak in through a back window or entrance.

Wrong again. Aramil frowned. Just as a hunch, he tried to pry off one of the window boards. It didn't even budge.

So summing it up: someone made the house, which was obviously haunted, very hard to get into. The house had no magical auras whatsoever associated with it, a rarity in the village. And it was in remarkably good condition. At a closer look, it was really only the paint, and maybe a little non-vital structural damage that was ruining it. It was one of the best haunted houses he had ever seen.

Aramil sighed. First bit of downtime he got, he was figuring out a way to get some sort of divine familiar. He was going to go crazy without someone to bounce ideas off of.

But back to the matter at hand. Assuming it wasn't haunted, someone went to a lot of trouble to give it the appearance of it. That wasn't a new trick to Aramil (the amount of times he had seen someone dressed up as a ghost to scare buyers away from a manor was staggering), but it wasn't like the house was valuable.

Maybe it was the land? But they were 'wizards'. Mining rights didn't seem like something worth all the work.

"Can I help you with something?"

Only centuries of dealing with Amara, who liked to vanish and reappear in the blink of an eye, stopped Aramil from slamming his head into the house. Instead, he calmly paused, and then turned around to see who was bothering him

And then immediately regretted it.

For a moment when he met Lucy, he thought he was screwed. She dressed so much like a stereotype that she was either a fraud or an archmage.

The man standing before him made her look like an _Awakened_ bush. He was a very tall and thin old man, with a beard that went past his waist. He was wearing a very purple cloak, under which he could see a blue pair of robes studded with stars, with a pair of spectacles completing the look.

And above all that, he had a faint twinkle in his eyes.

Aramil was at least forty percent sure he was an avatar of Boccob.

The old man continued talking, now that he had Aramil's attention.

"The house has been abandoned for years, and is known to be quite haunted. I would advise you from trying to enter."

If he had to pick a culprit for the haunting, it would be the old man right here. "And you are...?"

The man gave a little bow. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was just passing by, and thought I would give a little friendly warning."

A headmaster for an entire school of wizards? Yup, he definitely had to do with whatever was going on with the house. Not that it was necessarily malevolent, schoolteachers were always hiding things from inquisitive, plucky protagonists.

"Well, thanks for the warning Albus, but I'm not so sure this place is haunted. Oh, I'm Aramil by the way."

Albus raised an eyebrow in polite surprise. "Really? I've heard all sorts of tales from my brother, who runs one of the local inns. Howling, unearthly noises... what leads you to believe that?"

"Well first of all, you're trying to convince me to stay away, which automatically makes me suspicious. Second of all, the house seems to have no magical signatures, which seems odd for a wizarding-only village. Even if whoever did live there died a long time go, the residual buildup over however long that was would still be present. Third of all..." Aramil stopped mid-sentence, as he felt a sort of tingling sensation pass over him. The sort of sensation he had come to associate with enchantment spells.

He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, you have six seconds to stop whatever the hell you're trying to accomplish."

Albus seemed confused. Or he was just a very good liar. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm feeling amazing, aside from the fact that some human _peasant_ thinks they can mess around with my mind and get away with it. I'm heading to the inn and telling everyone how you're passing off an old dump as a haunted house, bye." He tried to walk away, but Albus stepped in front of him.

"You're right, your thoughts are yours alone, and I shouldn't have done that. I apologize for that. However, I require the house for an important cause, one that is necessary to prevent harm from occurring to anyone."

Aramil stopped. "Well... alright, but don't try that again. What's the issue?"

Albus sighed. "Would you simply accept that it's a matter of great importance, and leave it at that?"

"After the mind-reading, no, not really."

"Expected as much. Let's retreat at least a little further away, so this whole incident was not made irrelevant." Albus walked them over to the footpath. To anyone else passing by, they were just two wizards having a chat.

"So, I was right about it not being haunted?"

Albus nodded. "Indeed you were. You've got quite the inquisitive mind there, might I add-"

"Alright, I'm going to stop you there."

"Did I say something to offend you?"

"Not really, I'm just sensing from your tone that you're assuming I'm like what, in my early twenties? I'm a lot older than that. Probably a lot older than you."

A few wizards passed by them on the street, greeting Albus in an almost starstruck manner. Either he was this world's equivalent of Mordenkainen, or Hogwarts was a _really_ good school.

Albus started up again once the trio was out of earshot. "Very well. Some time ago at my school, we had a pupil. Remus Lupin, who I recently hired as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He became a werewolf sometime before arriving at Hogwarts, and the Shrieking Shack was where he went during the full moon."

"Oh. That makes sense. And now that he's coming back, you want to make sure that the shack is still good?"

"Well, not exactly. He takes a potion to keep his mind during the transformations, something that was unavailable during his youth. But I thought, just in case..."

Aramil nodded. "You wanted a backup, just in case something goes wrong."

"Correct. The shack connects through a tunnel to the Hogwarts grounds. Should unfortunate circumstances occur, we would easily be able to shepherd him to a secure place to wait out the night."

They left the village, turning onto a path that was next to an odd metal track of some sorts. If he had to guess, it was some sort of separate path for carriages. But why the metal?

"So everyone assumes it's haunted from the sounds of the werewolf, and then people stay away without any extra work needed. "

"Precisely. Now that we've settled that matter, could we discuss what you said back at the shack?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Aramil was still distracted. He assumed that the two parallel Material Planes had the same level of technology, but now that he thought about, this world was probably much more advanced. Wizards hiding away from 'muggles' meant less overall magic, which meant less reliance on it, which mean people had to invent other means of creating spaceships other than horrid abuses of _Animate Objects_ and Decanters of Endless Water.

"I believe you called me a 'human peasant?'"

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that."

Albus waved it away. "No need for an apology. What I was driving at was your particular word usage. You specifically said human, implying that you are not one yourself."

 _Ah._ "Well, that's a bit of a long story. But yes, I'm not. But before that, I should probably tell you I'm not from around here..."


	2. Chapter 2: Of Feasts and Exposition

**On my profile page is a link to Aramil's character sheet. Just as a warning for the future, don't read it unless you're absolutely up to date with any story updates in the future. Don't see anything too spoiler-y right now, but it's just a precaution.**

* * *

Aramil decided to go light on the details. Explaining it all took ages, but it would've literally taken up several decades to explain his whole backstory. Aramil had the time to spare, but he tried to be mindful of the chronologically-challenged.

He went a little abstract on the the negative levels thing, skipping over it by mentioning how he had recently lost most of his power. And then he had journeyed to a planar metropolis to seek out a friend who had a store there. Luckily, Albus already seemed to grasp the concept of different planes of existence.

"And then I was shoved into your world from a portal a few hours ago, which closed up right after me."

Albus nodded, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. They sort of wandered around during the whole timeskip and exposition. Albus said something about showing him around the castle, but there was something about new security measures. So they ended up at the Hog's Head, a disgustingly filthy bar tended by Aberforth, who seemed to be Albus' brother. Whatever the story there was, neither seemed like explaining.

"And you said you were a changeling, correct?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He just said he was from a whole other multiverse, and that's what he focused on?. "I just told you about a whole other form of magic you've never seen before, several in fact, and that's what you first talk about."

Albus shrugged. "Well, I just found that part particularly interesting. In our world, changelings refer to faerie infants that are switched with a human counterpart for whatever reason. And so it would make sense that they have the lifespan as humans. But you say you're almost two thousand years old, so..."

"Oh, right." Aramil downed the last few drops, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. "Yeah, we're the same. And yes, technically I should be _long_ dead by now, but seeing as how I'm technically an orphan, there's not a lot of people I can ask about that. Not that I'm complaining, immortality's awesome. Though I guess I could end up dying of old age any moment, so there's that..."

"Technically?" Albus asked.

"Hmm? No, it's nothing," he said. "Just your standard mysterious backstory, nothing really special. Couple thousand years ago, one thousand, seven hundred and forty-three to be exact, I woke up in the middle of a forest, in some weird cocoon that dissolved into a billion little butterflies. Didn't remember anything, assuming there was a before. For all I know, that could've been the birth process for some obscure third-party race, right?"

Albus paused with his mug halfway to his lips. "... Of course."

"Anyways, I wandered into a nearby elven village, where I met the lovely Lady Amara. She's a, friend of mine, I guess you could say. It's complicated."

"Right." He could tell the headmaster was curious, but thankfully decided not to push it.

It wasn't like he was hiding anything. It was just hard to sum up a relationship older than most empires in a few words. And Amara was anything _but_ simple.

"So, the thing about changelings is, it's a bit of a mix. Some are half-human, some are just between a court fey and a lower-class fey, and some are just children given up due to court intrigue."

"And by courts, I assume you mean the Seelie and Unseelie Courts."

Aramil frowned. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"I'v always been interested in Muggle fairy tales," he shrugged. "Stories of those courts appear prominently in them, with the Seelie Court being ruled by Oberon or Titania, and the Unseelie Court by the Queen of Air and Darkness. I don't suppose those names mean anything to you?"

He stared into the depths of his cup. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

 _And that line of thinking is how you end up dead._ Seriously, sometimes it felt like the best way to find a vampire, was to say that there was no such thing as vampire. Of course that would quickly result in a hugely ironic death, so...

"Hmm. Maybe the gods made this world too. I'm not the least bit religious," he added, seeing the skeptical look on Albus' face, "but they do exist in my world. There's like, what, sixty of them I think, not counting demigods. And then there's the archdevils and demon lords, and the celestial paragons, and the Elder Evils, but it's kind of hard to call those gods."

He took a while to recover from that. "Interesting. I don't suppose the names 'Vishnu' or 'Jesus' number along them, if we're looking for similarities."

"Never heard of them. I'd tell you their names, but they have this tendency to know when and where their names are spoken, so I'd rather not draw their attention to this place until I can figure out-"

 _Shit._ Aramil froze. The Queen of Air and Darkness was a goddess, wasn't she? Lesser, but still a goddess. He wasn't sure about Titania, but it seemed likely.

And Albus just said both of their names. Game over. Any second now, they'd be learning of a whole new world. Of all the deities, it had to be the queens of the fey court. As bad as some of the evil gods, or even the demon lords could be, they were at least predictable. Egotistical, bloodthirsty outsiders, who hated everything good.

But the rulers of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts? There'd be no telling what they'd do. They had as much respect for human life as they did for insects. Less, even. They could make the entire world barren for just a perceived slight. They could make everyone dance until they died, and well beyond that. They could let the Wild Hunt loose on the world.

Hogwarts was screwed. Aramil needed a way to get back to the Prime Material, preferably while all his organs were still in his chest.

But wait. Albus obviously had said them before now, or someone else had, if they were the stuff of fairy tales. And if they were still considered the stuff of fairy tales, then the courts weren't aware of the world, for whatever reason. A whole world of fun toys wouldn't be something they'd pass up, either of them.

Maybe they needed to be aware of the being they were talking about that. Either that, or this world somehow existed outside of their view.

He really needed to take ranks in Knowledge (the planes). But that was a cross-class skill for sorcerers, so...

"Aramil? Are you all right?"

Albus was looking somewhat concerned at him having stared off into space all of a sudden. Apparently, thinking wasn't a free action here.

"Sorry. Just thinking about something. Hey, just as a precaution, it might not be a good idea to say those names, the rulers of the fey courts, that is. At leas until I figure out the rules."

Rulers of the fey courts. Was that vague enough for the ability not to trigger? Hopefully. He'd find out in time.

"Are the 'rulers' that bad?" Albus asked.

"Worse."

Aramil would've said more, elaborating on it instead of giving a cryptic, one-word answer like a quest NPC might, but at that moment Aberforth approached them, and it just felt like a natural end to the conversation.

He said only two words before taking their mugs. "We're closed."

Looking outside, Aramil could see that it was already pitch black. They had been talking for hours and hadn't even realized it.

"Huh." He gestured to the drinks. "So did you already pay for this, or...?"

Albus waved off his question. "Oh, no need to worry about it. I have a long running tab. But while we're on the subject of payment, there's something you could do for me."

He blinked in surprise. "Uh, okay." Hopefully it wasn't going the way it sounded...

"As I mentioned before, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," said the headmaster. "And our groundskeeper is replacing our departing Care of Magical Creatures. With all the new changes, I thought it might be a good idea to hire a teaching assistant. Would you be interested?"

 _Oh._ That was surprisingly nice of him.

Aramil tilted his head. "Really? I only got into this world a few hours ago, and you think I'd be a good fit? Sorry, but I don't buy it."

"Does this Amara of yours tell you that you're very cynical?"

"One of us has to be," he shrugged. "If I've learned one thing in the two thousand or so years I've been walking around, it's that no one does something for free."

Albus sighed. "I suppose that's a wise lesson. Let's take a stroll, shall we?"

"Sure." They got up from their chairs, walking into the cool summer night. Judging from the cloud cover, Albus was as blind as a bat right now, but he found his way rather well. Of course, half the point of being a wizard was to go to absurd lengths to make mundane things _look_ effortless, like using an Empowered Maximized Silent Stilled _Burning Hands_ to light a cigar. The point wasn't that it was a _good_ option, the point was that you could afford to waste four metamagic feats and an eighth level slot to do it.

"As I was saying before, I was planning on hiring a teaching assistant." Albus started. "In fact, I was just on my way to the post office to put a notice in the paper."

"So why didn't you go with that? I'm sure there's thousands of people more qualified."

"That's true," he admitted. "Minerva recommended Nymphadora Tonks, but I hear she just made Auror, despite her signature grace. But to keep this short, I'd rather you be somewhere I can keep an eye on you, rather than you allying yourself with groups like the Death Eaters."

Death Eaters. Seriously? That mus have been the most unoriginal name he had ever herd of, and he was once kidnapped by 'The Dark Lord of Blackmoor'. Just hours and hours of monologuing. It was the only time he had ever regretted immortality.

But _Death Eaters_ just brought it to a new low. " _Please_ tell me that whoever came up with that name was dropped on their head as a baby."

"Well no, not that I know of," Albus chuckled. "But his family line was rather well known for inbreeding in a measure to keep their blood pure."

"Seelie court faeries tend to do that." Aramil said. "Say what you will about the Unseelie Court, but at least they're not sylvan supremacists."

"Fascinating. You'll have to go more in detail about that."

Aramil paused. Did he? It wasn't like there was much else to do here. And he could use the gold for spell components and what not. And crafting, if he felt like going down that route.

"Sure. Why not."

"Excellent. Allow me to fetch the paperwork."

As Albus teleported (or Apparated, as he called it earlier) away, and Aramil was left waiting, he couldn't help but feel like he had just made a Faustian bargain.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. How much trouble could several hundred teenagers with magical abilities could be?

* * *

 _A month and one level later..._

* * *

"Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen _..._ Oh."

Aramil noticed the chalk marks all over his robes. The very expensive silver set, the ones he had just bought yesterday from Twilfitt and Tattings, specifically for the Welcoming Feast. Just his luck.

"Great. _Prestidigitation._ " Aramil had been saving his spell slots all day for the feast, even his cantrips. One never knew when one would needed an extra casting of _Message_ or _Detect Magic._ And a feast was the perfect time for assassins, devils, or assassin devils to strike.

Seeing as the spell lasted for an hour, he set it to scrub his desk clean, brush his teeth, and fashionably mess up his hair. If _Prestidigtation_ was any better, it'd probably be its own prestige class.

And honestly, it'd probably be better than straight Sorcerer. The only thing it had going for it was Summon Familiar, which he had traded for Metamagic Specialist, because apparently letting sorcerers have just _one_ thing was too much for wizards.

At the time, Aramil thought it seemed like a pretty fair trade. But now that he was stuck on another plane, with absolutely no one from his world to talk to...

No biggie, he'd just take Obtain Familiar as his next level feat. It'd delay some of the other things he was thinking of, but it'd stack with all his arcane caster levels, including shadowcaster levels.

Shadowcasters. They were basically the monks of arcane casters. But they were also the quickest way he was getting _Plane Shift_ , albeit a heavily-nerfed version that needed to connect to the Plane of Shadow. But one step at a time.

Aramil looked around the cottage. Was he forgetting anything? He had his robes, what else was there... Right, his spell component pouch. He wasn't going to be able to do anything ridiculous like pulling out an artifact, but he might be able to get away with a Gargantuan-sized _Launch Bolt._ He'd only have to explain how he was blatantly breaking two universe's realm's of physics in a way that didn't get him smote before supper.

Speaking of which, it was getting late. Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper and new Care of Magical Creatures teacher, would be leading the first-years across the lake by now.

He liked Rubeus. It only took him about a day to build Aramil the cottage, which was sized for what he was guessing was a half-giant. Pureblood humans didn't usually have hands that looked like they could strangle dire wolves. But he was easy enough to talk to, and definitely entertaining.

Honestly, everyone at Hogwarts was easy to get along with. Even Minerva McGonagall of Transfiguration/Gryffindor, who looked pretty strict at first, was just as kind as Albus.

Everyone except Snape, of course. As soon as Aramil met him, the Potions teacher set off every 'Obviously Evil Alarm' in his head. A hooked nose, greasy hair, and the brooding attitude to match? He was as obvious as Asmodeus, minus the supernatural charm and intelligence.

And as if they were making it even _more_ obvious, he was the only one who objected to Aramil's hiring.

Now that he thought about it, everyone had taken it pretty well when he told them the truth. He guessed when you were in charge of several hundred kids developing puberty alongside with intense magical powers, the idea of an alternate multiverse must've been easy to accept.

Not for the first time, Aramil wondered if he should just run away and live in the Forbidden Forest. He didn't like being in a position of authority, and he _definitely_ didn't like children.

But if there was one thing he disliked more than that, it was being indebted to someone. Maybe it was the fey blood in him.

It couldn't hurt. It'd be over in a flash. Fifty, sixty years at most. Just the blink of an eye.

Aramil looked himself over in the mirror last time. He took a deep breath.

"Now or never..." He took a sip of the Firewhisky he had swiped from Aberforth, just to steady his nerves. And before he could second guess himself, he stepped outside, locking the door behind him.

Aramil looked up at the castle, which was barely visible in the darkness, even with his low-light vision. Everyone would already be in the Great Hall, waiting for the feast to start.

He never liked feasts. But this one was going to have a singing hat, so that was something new, at least.

He opened the enormous front doors (which he really shouldn't be able to do, considering he had a Strength score of 8. But everyone loved a dramatic entrance, so maybe they were enchanted), only to see Filius already leading the first-years to the antechamber to wait for The Sorting.

 _Damn it._ He was a lot later than he thought.

He was moving towards the Great Hall doors, when he noticed that a lot of them were crying.

Aramil flagged down Filius, who he was petty sure was part goblin (Dumbledore seemed to be generous with part-humans), crouching down by the antechamber entrance. "Hey. What's with all that?"

Filius squeakily whispered back. "Dementors, the poor things. They were searching the train for Black."

The Dementors. They were basically a cross between devourers, gray jesters and wraiths, that served as prison guards for Azkaban. How someone thought _that_ would be a good guardian for a school full of excitable children, he had no idea. Dumbledore definitely wasn't a fan of it, but when you had a serial killer roaming loose...

"Alright. Well, I should get going."

Aramil paused before the doors to the Hall. Behind them he could hear the sound of hundreds of voices. And every single one of the voices would be focused on him in a few seconds. One of the curses of having high charisma was always being noticed in a crowd. Unless he was using the Disguise Skill to hide as a student, then Aramil would be much less noticeable than a typical human. Which made no sense.

Again, he thought about running off and being a hermit in the woods. All the cool fey were doing it already. But again, he had a debt to pay.

"Well, no point in wasting time."

* * *

Albus had told him that about five hundred or so kids attended Hogwarts annually. Apparently there had been some big war a decade ago, lot of people died or moved away, and numbers were still recovering.

But now that he was in front of them all, Aramil realized five hundred was a lot more than he thought.

It took a while for the students to notice him. Everyone was still abuzz about the dementors, so Aramil was about halfway to the head table before the general roar started to die down, and people started wondering who the incredibly stylish sorcerer was.

The hubbub reached a fever pitch when he took his seat beside an incredibly calm Albus (which utterly _shocked_ Aramil).

"You're late." The headmaster was scanning the tables. Looking for a student, maybe?

"Yeah, sorry about that. Lost track of time. Don't mean to change the subject, but Filius just told me about the dementors on the train...?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, I only learnt about it a few minutes ago myself. I sent Cornelius Fudge a strongly-worded Howler on that subject."

Aramil had a vivid image of someone opening a letter, only to be mauled by what was basically an overgrown abyssal porcupine. Probably wasn't what Albus met, but it was funny to picture. "Not sure what that is, but you do you. I kind of expected you to be a bit more, _expressive_ about this whole dementors situation."

"Hmm." The headmaster didn't say anything to him, just continued scanning the room. Maybe he was looking for Minerva? He noticed her seat was empty, for whatever reason.

Also, that reminded him. _"Mage Armor."_ It'd only be on for a few hours, but he wanted it on, just in case of the aforementioned assassin devils. Albus briefly glanced over at the casting, but otherwise continued scanning the hall.

Everyone fell silent as the first years came in, led by Filius. Most of the were staring down at the ground, still crying, or looked like they had aged ten years since they stepped onto the train.

Between the dementors, the lake, and the general pressure of being sorted into a group that would determine your entire academic career and social circle, Aramil wondered how long it'd take for nervous breakdowns to start.

He gave it a week.

* * *

The ceremony itself was pretty boring. The Sorting Hat sang a song, and then it started sorting them into different houses based on whatever qualities it spotted in heir heads. There were four houses: Gryffindor for the protagonists, Ravenclaw for little misters and misses expositions, Slytherin for the antagonists (and maybe the one Drizzt-type figure), and Hufflepuff for fodder.

Albus (of course) and Minerva were in Gryffindor, Filius was in Ravenclaw, Pomona Sprout of Herbology was in Hufflepuff, and in a move that surprised no one, Snape came from Slytherin. The signs around him just kept piling up.

The ceremony ended with a Romilda Vane being sorted into Gryffindor, and Filius took away the hat, just as two students slipped into the Hall.

Aramil would've bet his half his levels those were the people Albus was looking for. The boy had messy black hair, bright green eyes, and a mysterious lighting bolt scar on his forehead that just screamed 'protagonist'.

He was just about to ask Albus about that, when he stood up to start his speech.

"Welcome," he said, all traces of anger gone as he beamed around the room, "Welcome to another year to Hogwarts! As we have a number of pressing announcements tonight, I think it's best to get them out of the way, before we dig into the excellent feast..."

He paused to clear his throat.

"As I'm sure you are all aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently playing host to the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises, or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added.

Invisibility Cloaks? He didn't need an item creation feat to figure out what those were. Unless they were a lot more common than Aramil thought, it seemed odd for Albus to just focus on them out of the blue. He made a mental note to watch out for invisible creatures, ignoring the inherent irony.

But back to the Dementors.

"It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors," he said.

So they were cold, merciless soul-sucking creatures that could detect invisible creatures. If they focused on emotions, it could function something like a re-skinning of the Mindsight feat. He didn't see how all that was going to be warded off by a couple of seventh-year students with shiny badges.

"On a happier note," Albus continued, "I am pleased to announce some new faces at Hogwarts this year."

Aramil _really w_ ished he had an Invisibility Cloak at that moment.

"Firstly, Professor Remus Lupin, who has kindly agreed to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

A shabbily-dressed man three seats down to Aramil's left received rather mild applause.

He wasn't exactly what Aramil was expecting. All the werewolves he had met were admittedly evil to the core, but they were all perfectly capable of breaking his silver dagger in two and throwing him out the elven embassy window without breaking a sweat. Remus Lupin made it look like it was an effort for him just to be sitting there.

Which wasn't too far from the truth, at least for Aramil.

Albus continued on, saying something about the last Care of Magical Creatures and how he had retired to enjoy his remaining limbs, which made Aramil sit up straight. Maybe it wouldn't be so boring after all.

"However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his groundskeeper duties."

The Gryffindor table burst into almost ear-splitting applause, drowning out the more tempered reception from the other tables. Aramil mentally took Rubeus off of his Possibly Evil Teacher List. It was never the teachers everyone liked the most. It was always the long-standing shady one, or the comic relief, or the one mysterious newcomer-

"And last, but certainly not least, I'm please to welcome Aramil, our new teaching assistant."

Lightflower. He hated family names. Titles, descriptors, stuff like that. They just felt like shackles. But due to the omnipotent force called 'paperwork', he needed a last name for Gringotts and benefits and all that. So, he stole Amara's. She'd be thrilled at that.

Aramil waved. The applause sounded confused, probably wondering why some teaching assistant was sitting right next to the headmaster.

"Well, I think that's all. Let's begin the feast!"

A bowl of various fruits appeared in front of Aramil, alongside with a glass of wine. Ever since he arrived on this alternate Prime Material Plane (which he was calling Hogwarts), something about the meat felt off to him. Which didn't make sense, because if anything was going to taste differently on another plane due to differentiating environmental conditions, it'd be plants, not animals. But tell that to his stomach.

Aramil turned to Albus. "So, who's Lightning Boy?"

He didn't even need to look up to tell him, which said enough on its own. "That would be Harry Potter. About twelve years ago, the dark wizard Voldemort killed his parents and attempted to kill him with the aptly-named Killing Curse, which no power could block. Instead it rebounded and destroyed him, giving Potter that scar and ending the war."

"Ah." He nibbled on an apple slice thoughtfully. "So he's still alive, then?"

He didn't need to be a genius to figure that out. The evil wizard was always alive, the prisoner was always faking it, and the little girl in the middle of nowhere was never a little girl.

Albus glanced at Minerva, who was back in her seat on his right. She was talking reassuringly to Rubeus about her first day as a transfiguration teacher, and how she had turned a student into a shrub.

"That depends on your definition of 'alive'. Last year for example, a memory of him from his youth hidden in a diary here sought to gain control of the Chamber of Secrets and unleash the basilisk trapped within, taking possession of a student to do so."

A basilisk? Basilisks were a lot of things; irritating, under CR'ed, and could mean death to a low level party, but they didn't exactly scream 'Monster of Legend'. Maybe basilisks were different here. Instead of being over-sized lizards, they could be, for example, sixty feet long serpents with acidic venom and a gaze that instantly killed anything.

"Alright. I'm just going to assume he's coming back anytime between one month and let's say... five years from now, and plan from there." Aramil went back to his meal.

"That may be a wise course of action," Albus said, all with the tone of someone advising a warm coat on a rainy day.

So there was a crazed serial killer on the loose, soul-sucking abominations guarding the castle, and an evil wizard who was coming back from the dead.

He was really going to like it here.

* * *

 _In a familiar field a few miles away..._

A figure emerged from a portal, which closed immediately after it.

Holding up a lantern, it looked around, then set off in the direction of Hogwarts.


	3. Important Notice

**Hey guys! You might have noticed I'm not posting a lot lately.**

 **I've come down with a little bit of repetitive strain injury in my hands; basically I've been typing too much and it hurts. I should be fine with a bit of rest, but it means you won't get updates. So consider my stories on hiatus until I recover fully.**

 **Thanks for the understanding guys.**


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